Don't Talk To Strangers
by Terrorking Tragedian
Summary: It began in the park at night. After that, Miley Stewart finds herself in a real-life nightmare as she tries to avoid an obsessed stalker, all the while fighting to keep herself and those around her alive. Will justice be served, or the villain prevail?
1. Assault!

This story, at first glance, bears a strange resemblance to another of mine. It used to be a redo of 'Cruelest Cat and Mouse Game', my other work, but then I reopened that story. So now I'm changing this one into something brand new. Because this is originally a 'clone', some things in the story are stuck (particularly the first chapter). The plot, however, is completely different. Please treat it like a different story.

Revision: 11 Mar., 10 Rewrote a whole bunch of stuff in the first three chapters. I feel much better now.

To .On: Hope to see you again!

Disclaimer: I do not own Hannah Montana.

* * *

It was a dark night.

The howling wind blew across the land, whipping my face hard, and chilling every part of my body. The cold gale rustled up the leaves, shaking whole trees and branches like wind chimes. The grasses and dead leaves on the ground were sucked into the violent dance of the frigid winds. Violent gusts of wind lashed from the night, and a barrage of dead leaves brushed against my legs, their surface rough and hard. Like little blades.

The park was eerily devoid of life, and apart from the cacophony of the gale, all else was silent.

The little moths that flew around the dim streetlights were the only beings alive I saw.

It makes your skin crawl.

I shuddered violently and pulled wrapped my arms around me; my long-sleeved jacket was a cute top, not a windbreaker. A rumble of thunder from the distant sky. A storm was coming. I had to get home before it started to rain. A minute rain drop touched my cheek, cold as ice. Moments later, more microscopic droplets fell on my skin.

"Where's Daddy when I need him?" I whispered, cursing the night, shivering from the penetrating cold. An overwhelming gust swept right across me, as if an empty reply.

"Tch. Whistling in the dark..."

I wanted more than anything to get out of this park, and back home, where the welcoming warmth of family will embrace me. But you know how the more desperate you are, the more impossible something gets? The park soon became an unsolvable maze, and after an eternity of pointless wandering, I admitted to myself that I was lost.

Damn it.

Cold, cold, cold...Where on Earth am I? I asked myself again and again. How did I end up here? Where was I before I came here?

I'm in delirium.

* * *

_It was the end of a party at Jake's house. He invited basically everyone at school, but I was his guest star at the party. We danced, chatted and ate joyfully that night. Lilly and Oliver also had a great time: Lilly got hooked up with some guy from Spanish class, and Oliver spent the half the time pigging himself at the food table, other times impressing the ladies at the small "bar" in the living room. And Jackson (ever the Celebrity stalker) was Jake's bartender in this party. After more than three fun hours, it became revelry, and I was quite exhausted._

_"Hey Miley. You're tired, aren't you?" Jake's voice rang from my left._

_Jake walked over to me at the table, holding two cups of juice. He was looking at me with a rather curious expression on his face. I was resting my head on my arms, and when I lifted it to look at him, my head felt a million tons heavier. I was completely exhausted; every muscle in my body screamed in protest whenever I moved, and I was starting to feel a little light-headed._

"_Thanks Jake." I said simply as I took the cup of juice he offered me. "I definitely need to remember to sleep a night before I attend a party." I added. Jake laughed shortly._

"_If you are tired, I can get you home. I can drive you back home, and you can take a rest."_

_Despite Jake being my boyfriend, I daren't sit in his car. Not at such a late hour, alone with him. There were a lot of times when we were alone, together, but to be honest, I didn't allow him to give me a lift home in his car, at night. Something about being Fourteen years old. Yeah, I'm a good girl. Go figure._

_How do I say this without hurting someone's feelings? "No, it's alright, Jake. I can go home on my own from here."_

_Jake did not understand why I refused his offer._

"_Why would you want to walk home if I can drive you back?"_

_Awkward! Looking carefully into his eyes, I replied cautiously, stuttering all the way, "It's just...I don't feel like getting a lift...I don't want...it's rather late...I'm sorry." I finished pathetically, flushing a furious red._

_To my enormous relief, Jake smiled._

"_Come on, Miley. You can trust me."_

"_No, Jake. I'm sorry, but I can go home on my own." I answered firmly._

_Jake shrugged and said, "Okay, I understand. If you want to leave now, you can." He gestured to the door before adding almost eagerly, "Are you sure you don't want company? I can at least walk you home."_

_I refused his offers again and again; maybe he just wanted me to be safe, but I was perfectly alright with going home on my own. I don't know, okay? Maybe I was getting irritable. Maybe it's just too much noise. It was ten-thirty at night. I glanced at Lilly and Oliver. Oliver was busy impressing a crowd of girls with his amazing bar-tending skills, and Lilly was having fun dancing with the dude named Rodrigo Martinez. I decided not to bother them and leave alone._

"_I'll go without Lilly and Oliver. They're having fun, but I'm really tired." I said to Jake after a moment of observation._

"_Okay. Be safe, Miley." Jake said, patting me on the back._

"_Thanks Jake." I kissed him, warmly. _

_"See you tomorrow."_

_With that, I walked out of the house._

_

* * *

  
_

"_That's what I get for listening to Daddy!"_

You see, when I'm not driven there, I walk to Jake's place right here in Malibu. It's not really that far away, only I have to cross this park. I'd never been to this park without the light of day, and I never thought how scary this labyrinthine place would turn at nightfall. Now I know.

Hmm, 'labyrinthine'. What a perfect word to describe this God-forsaken place.

I mumbled a plea-in-jest to Dad, hoping he would come and rescue me.

I lost hope of ever returning home before the storm. The raindrops are getting heavy. Maybe I'll take shelter under that big tree over there...

Maybe I'll backtrack to Jake's place. He's got a spare bed; I'll spend the...

"Hello, Miley Stewart. I'm your biggest fan."

* * *

I jumped ten feet off the ground.

A dark, short figure approached five feet away, too close to be friendly, ready to pounce. Two leering eyes glint with diabolical intent.

"Who are you!?" I exclaimed in alarm.

The man bared his yellow teeth in a malicious smile.

"I'm your biggest fan." He cracked his knuckles.

I backed off, trembling. The man took a step forward. His face came into the full light of the lamppost, and I was staring at something like a mutant Hunchback of Notre Dame. It wasn't human. The thing spoke in a low growl.

"You're mine now."

"Wh-wha -?" I stammered.

"Don't be scared. I just want to know how it's like to _touch_ you," he said slowly, eyes burning into mine. I couldn't run. I couldn't look away. My mind had frozen completely.

He advanced.

"St-stay away from me!"

I took unsteady steps back. The man approached even more, turned on by my fear. I felt a wave of cold wash over my entire body, that had nothing to do with the wind.

"Give me your hand, little girl. I'll help you out of -"

"STAY AWAY FROM ME, YOU CREEP!"

He jumped at me. I stumbled, and fell.

"NO! AAAH!!"

Instinctively, I screamed and lashed out furiously in self-defense. My foot met something soft. Then he was howling in pain. And the next moment, I was tearing away from the maniac as fast as my legs could carry me.

"YOU LITTLE WHORE! YOU'LL NEVER GET AWAY FROM ME!!"

I no longer saw where I was running. All I did was charge into the darkness, hoping the shadows of night would cover me and lose him. But he ran faster than I did – so much faster! - and could soon catch up, within ten feet.

"You're mine!" he screamed.

"GO AWAY! HELP!"

I lost track of time; all mental faculties fled at that moment. I thought only to escape, and fling myself into Daddy's arms.

"Come back! Stop running!" He was panting hard, sounding whiney, and slowing down.

But my legs were never close to giving way. I ran on adrenaline; I was going to win.

Suddenly I noticed that I was out of the park, and on desolate streets – streets that, even in barren darkness, I recognised. A rush of joy coursed through my veins. I ran in the rough direction of home. To safety, to warmth, to victory.

My attacker heard my thoughts.

"Dammit, stop right there!"

**BANG! BANG! BANG!**

Three gunshots were fired at me in rapid succession from behind. The first shot missed totally. The second shot missed me closely; I heard it whizzed past my ear. Then one pierced my upper arm like a red-hot pike, sending waves of heat arching down my entire right arm. I increased my pace, tears of pain clouding my vision. The pain dissipated as soon as it came; for the burning in my lungs was far greater.

_Shit. The guy has a gun. God, help me!_

The shadows broke apart, and through the fog before my eyes, I saw...the door of my house!

My heart was going into hyper-drive. My burning lungs threatened to burst and give in, and my legs began to cramp up from the arduous flight. I couldn't see anymore; God was guiding me.

_Ten yards from the door...five yards from the door...just a little more..._

**BANG! BANG!**

The windscreen on Jackson's car exploded. A shot blazed past and went through the wooden lacquered door.

I smashed up the small flight of stairs, and the momentum sent me crashing into the door painfully. I turned around for an infinitesimal second to look back.

...I can't describe to you what I saw. What he looked like. What I felt.

I ceased to think; didn't feel myself move. I saw door fling open, a terrified girl diving inside and screamed in wild abandon, **"DADDY HELP! SOMEONE'S AFTER ME!!"**

* * *

Terrorking Tragedian

_(To be revised)_


	2. Home

_(These first two chapters were supposed to be one, but I split them into two and added the hospital bit into this chapter later. I'm sorry, the first bit is in first-person view because it would be too much trouble to change it into third-person, so bear with me...)_

* * *

_Robby Ray's POV:_

"Sweet nibblets, where the sam-heck is Miley?" I asked myself for the millionth time that night. The butterflies in my stomach refused to die even after three hours. I was grilling a T-bone behind the stove to try and keep myself occupied from worrying, when suddenly…

**BANG! BANG! BANG!**

Three distant gunshots. A blood-curdling scream. A terrible roar.

**BANG! BANG!**

Something ricocheted right off the door. Then it flung wide open with the sound of an explosion and a figure clad in green charged in like a bullet, screaming blue murder. It took five long seconds to register. It was my daughter.

"**DADDY HELP! SOMEONE'S AFTER ME!! "** Miley screamed, flying into my arms and breaking down into tears. Stunned, it took a while for me to register the scene in my head.

"Miley, what the heck…MILEY, WHY ARE YOU BLEEDING!?" I yelled in horror, spotting the blood-red sleeve and the hole in Miley's right upper arm.

"A GUY TRIED TO KIDNAP ME AND NOW HE WANTS TO KILL ME!" She screamed into my chest, shaking and gasping for air, pointing a finger at the door left ajar, nearly swung off its hinges. "He's got a gun!" She added as she snapped her head towards the door. I dropped her and ran to the door, peering out into the dark driveway.

There was no figure of a man running at the door, nobody shooting at me, no one at all outside. There was no one there. Yet Miley was hiding behind the stove, crying hysterically, with a gunshot wound on her arm. Whoever attacked her must have ducked away from sight and ran away, choosing not to shoot me down and finish Miley off. I suddenly realised just how vulnerable I was; I was unarmed, while this criminal had a gun, and any time, he could turn back and kill all of us.

Piercing fear and an incredible flush of hot anger surged simultaneously through my veins. Whosoever hurts a hair on my daughter's head is going to get it from me – someday. I slammed the door shut, locking it, and rushed back to Miley, who was still hiding behind the stove, shaking and crying uncontrollably. Jackson ran down the stairs frantically and yelled, "I heard someone screaming! What's happening?"

"Jackson, call the police!" I shouted. "Someone's outside the door with a gun, and he can come in any time. Tell the police to get here right away!"

"Dad! What happened to Miley?!"

Jackson too noticed the red stain on Miley's arm. She was holding her wound, on her knees and leaning against the stove, crying and screaming, "Make him go away, Daddy! Make him go away!"

Miley was in shock. It broke my heart to see my daughter in such a wrecked condition. I hoisted her up on her feet and gave her a reassuring hug, whispering in a reassuring but shaking voice, "He's gone now. He's gone. Nothings' gonna hurt you. Daddy's got you."

She did not calm down, not even after five minutes of comforting words. Jackson alerted the police and said, "They'll be here in five minutes."

"Good. Now lock all the doors, and we'll all go upstairs and hide. There's a guy out there who's got a gun, and he can come in any time. We'll hide until the police come." I instructed Jackson with calm – as much as I can muster. Jackson nodded and ran to lock the back door while I put Miley's shaking form onto the couch and ran to lock the door to the deck. After making sure there was no way the criminal could get in, I grabbed Miley and ran upstairs with Jackson.

"He can't get in now. All the glass windows and doors are bullet-proof. And if he smashes them down..." Jackson's eyes widened upon this realisation. "Oh snap! He can still smash the glass!"

"Just find somewhere to hide, son!" I yelled, glancing back down the stairs nervously. Meanwhile, Miley was still moaning between tears, "He wants to kill me, Daddy! Make him go away! Make him go away!"

"There's a first aid kit in my bathroom, Dad." Jackson said, running off to his bathroom. I followed him in, slammed the door shut and locked it. Jackson's bathroom was a good place to hide; while the door was unbreakable, we could still hear the noises and sounds from downstairs. Jackson took out the first aid it and all three of us sat down on the floor, ready to dress Miley's gunshot wound.

I rolled up Miley's sleeve and stared transfixed in horror at the wound. It was bleeding profusely, a little hole marking where the bullet had pierced through the arm. Gritting my teeth, I cleaned the wound and applied alcohol on it. Miley screamed in pain and flinched, as if burned. Jackson held her tight to prevent her from hurting herself and moving while I dressed the wound, finally wrapped temporarily in a bandage.

"Ooh, that looks bad." Jackson mumbled, wincing at the sight of the gunshot wound.

"Ow." Miley managed to choke, still holding her arm. The blood continued to flow freely. Worryingly, she was beginning to pale.

But there was no time to worry. Immediately after dressing the wound, I heard the front door being rapt five times, and a large voice calling from behind it.

"This is the police! We're breaking down the door!"

* * *

_(Third Person POV)_

"So this man was white, tall, muscular, with numerous scars on his face, had short hair and a short orange beard?" the officer repeated from his notes, looking tired and a little sad.

"Uh-huh," Miley whispered, not looking at him.

"And you've never seen him before, until you met him in the park that night."

"Yeah, that's right."

"I think that's all I'll need for now. Thanks, Miss Stewart," the officer said, standing up and giving Miley a nod. He then gave a nod to Robby Ray, saying, "And you too, Mr Stewart. Good night."

"Thanks, officer." Robby Ray muttered. With that, the officer left the ward.

There was an uncomfortable silence in the hospital ward as Robby Ray bent down to tuck Miley into her bed, and she squirmed around playfully. A tear appeared in the father's eye; it hurt him to see his little girl get hurt so badly.

It was an night after the assault at the park. Immediately after the police found the frightened family in the bathroom, Miley passed out in shock. She had been rushed to hospital, and scooted into the ER, where an emergency surgery took the bullet out of her arm. Much to everyone's relief and delight, the bullet did no lasting damage, though Miley was still recovering from the shock of being attacked.

"Daddy, when am I getting out of here?" Miley whispered, looking up at Robby Ray with large hopeful eyes.

"You'll be out of here tomorrow. But for now, you must sleep over at the hospital," the father replied in equal hushed tones, puffing up the pillow for his daughter. "I don't know if they will let me stay, so I'd better get goin'," he added, a hint of poignancy in his voice.

"No, Daddy, go leave me! Can you stay please?" Miley pleaded, reaching out for her father.

Another tear formed in the father's eye. His heart ached to leave his poor little girl.

"All right, Mile. I'll stay."

"Thanks." Miley's lips curled into a warm smile.

"Go to bed now."

"Mmmh..."

"I won't leave you..."

"...Night, Dad."

The lights went off in the ward. Robby Ray took his place on the chair by the bed.

* * *

There was no noise in those squeaky-clean hospital wards, except for the ticking of a tiny clock-face hanging high on the wall, and the occassional shuffling of nurses' shoes. One takes comfort from that. All is restful. All is peace.

Three-twenty five. A man slipped into the room, silent as a shadow, with only the little clock-face as witness bore. He was covered in black; he was not a nurse, not on usual runs during the night shift. He slips a type-printed note on a low drawing desk, beside a bed where a little girl lay, fast asleep. Then, as swiftly as he had come, he was gone, a perverted smile upon his countenance unseen. The bomb was set. The harbinger of a living nightmare. Even in the serene dark, the words in ink glinted malevolently, spelling a dreadful message.

_Dear Miley,_

_Know that you can never get away from me. Last time was sheer luck. Don't expect something like that to happen again. I will get you._

_And you'll then be mine._

_Don't worry. It'll only hurt a little bit. In fact, I think you'll enjoy it. After all, I am you biggest fan. And you're a pop star._

_Isn't pleasing fans what pop stars do?_

_Love, your secret admirer._

_

* * *

  
_

Terrorking Tragedian


	3. Soliloquy of the Predator

This is an interlude, before the next chapter. Revised 11 March 2010.

I think I actually prefer third-person view, after that little experimentation. I'll try to stick to it for the entire length of this story. Unless it doesn't suit my purposes.

Disclaimer: Not going through this again...Look, if I did own anything remotely like a TV show, I wouldn't be writing fan fiction! _So don't call me!_

* * *

Soliloquy of the Predator

.......

"Aaaah!!"

"No!"

It was the late hours of the morning. In a hospital ward, a brunette laid her head in her hands and sobbed in terror while her father stood by the bedside in a state of profound shock and horror, staring at a small slip of paper in his shaking hand. Words in black ink were scrawled on the little note, each working together to bring forth a sinister message. The terrified pair quickly called for help, and by noon, a team of policemen had arrived, at hand and ready to help.

By mid-afternoon, the father and daughter left the hospital with their police escorts, no doubt to make their case heard. When evening rolled around, everything was done, and the pair headed home, shaken but not defeated. The police would be on the alert from then on.

Everything was going according to his plan.

And that plan was to take Miley Stewart for himself. No matter what the cost.

As he sat in hiding a short distance from the Stewarts' home, closely observing them, a smile of anticipation curled on his lips.

This frenzy for security and publicity served only to entice him further, to draw him. He would manipulate and twist the minds of people until it was time to strike. Doubtless, it was a drawback; police were enemies to him. But no matter, he could still win. And that night, that gloriously dark night, would be when he struck.

He would strike gold.

For he knew policemen would not guard the house day and night. Nobody actually took his threat seriously. Security was lax, or non-existent. But the girl was alert, and so was her family. The papers will treat it as a story was a slow-news day, and police probably couldn't be bothered. He had ample opportunity, as long as he could beat the resistance the girl would offer when he attacked.

Enough waiting, the man thought. Enough stalking. He pulled down his mask, felt for his knife and length of rope, and hopped out of the bushes with all the dexterity of a ninja. ('Of a Ninja'. He liked that.) The shadows of the night provided cover, the quiet allowed him to move towards the house undetected. As he approached the house, his heartbeat accelerated – excitement flooded his veins, sending electric currents through his hot blood. The attack would be all that he dreamed of, and his prize would be the girl. All his fantasies, all his amorous and sexual desires, to lavish on the girl – what a wonderful thought! Within half an hour, the prize would be his.

By the end of the night, his dream would be fulfilled. He swore it.

He checked his watch. 1a.m. it read. Perfect. It was time for action.

A Predator raids the nest of its prey. And takes what it came for.

And leaves.

"Sweet Miley, prepare yourself for a wild ride. Heh heh heh..."

* * *

Sorry this had to be so short, but I seriously am stuck. I mean, it's a soliloquy for the villain; how long can it be? Besides, the next chapter is better! (I think – the action is coming up next, but I hope my skills will suffice.)

BTW, won't you concur that the villain is either a total bastard, or the creation of a sick mind? I refrained from adding "And his pe-(sexual organ) enlarged as he thought of the different ways he could fu-(something obscene) the girl...his sexual wants energized him..." because I thought it would be TOO obscene – please, I'll keep my dignity.

Perhaps I have no dignity to speak off. Anyway, the 'eff'-ing will be quite apparent in the next chapter. (Sorry, the website doesn't seem to be able to allow asterisks in story format when submitting, so I can't censor profanities. We'll just make do.)

Terrorking Tragedian


End file.
